


Four Cups of Punch

by acenoyas



Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: Also this is very cliche, Bisexual E.J. Caswell, Bisexual Ricky Bowen (HSM: The Series), Drinking, E.J. Caswell is a Good Friend, Emotionally inarticulate bisexual boys, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not sure about that one but it’s tagged just to be safe, Panic Attacks, Pining, Ricky Bowen Needs A Hug (HSM: The Series), Ricky Bowen has Anxiety, Sad Ricky Bowen (HSM: The Series), haha “friend”, ”There’s only one bed” but with a twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:47:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acenoyas/pseuds/acenoyas
Summary: Ricky gets drunk. E.J. is determined to take care of him, even if it digs up a repressed feeling or two.
Relationships: Ricky Bowen & E.J. Caswell, Ricky Bowen/E.J. Caswell
Comments: 23
Kudos: 262





	Four Cups of Punch

**Author's Note:**

> there aren’t enough “taking care of your drunk idiot crush” fics in this fandom so i wrote one. this is my first attempt at creative writing in two years, so it’s not the best. but is sure is Something

He really shouldn’t be here. 

Parties have never been Ricky’s scene. Coming here seemed like a good idea earlier, but now he regrets it. Deeply. 

It’s too loud. In the kitchen, people are cheering as some kid guzzles a growler. On the other side of the living room, the speakers are playing a rap song with the most _deafening_ bass he’s ever heard. 

Maybe he should have gone to the park instead and sat on an empty swing. Maybe he should have found a bench to sleep on. There are a lot of places that would be better than here. But then again, here is better than home. 

Ricky scoots further into the corner. He started off the night sitting on the couch, slowly sipping his punch and chatting with a few people here and there. But at some point, he wound up on the floor, and nobody is coming over to talk anymore. He doesn’t blame them, though. They’re all drunk. He doesn’t know what’s in the punch, but it’s _strong_. 

Still, he pulls his cup towards him and takes another sip. It tastes like shit, but it’s bearable enough that he’s had a few cups already. 

He doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. Since it’s his first time drinking, he doesn’t know how much will get him drunk, but he knows he’s a ways past tipsy. Maybe if he gets wasted, everything will stop being so loud. 

Things have been _very_ loud lately. Not just here -- everywhere. The buzzing of his phone as Gina texts that she misses him is loud. The voice that says to leave a message after the beep when he calls Nini is loud. At home, the sound of his parents shouting is really loud. When he left the house earlier that night, chasing the quiet, he could still hear them from outside. 

He came here hoping for a distraction, but he hasn’t found one yet. Not a good one, anyways. Maybe he should do something fun. Are they playing spin the bottle upstairs? Someone might have invited him to play earlier. The memory is fuzzy. 

Wait. On second thought, spin the bottle would _suck_ right now. Everyone’s breath is stale and they’re too drunk to give proper consent. 

Abruptly, someone turns up the volume on the speakers. Ricky sinks further into his corner, closes his eyes and holds his head in his hands. 

God, it’s hard to breathe in here. Maybe it’s the heat. With this many people in one house, it’s freakishly humid. He really shouldn’t have worn a hoodie, either, because it’s too warm and too tight around his neck. 

Okay. Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

He runs his fingers through his hair. Deep breath in- 

_”Ricky?”_

Deep, _deep_ breath in. 

He knows who it is before he even opens his eyes. E.J.’s voice is pretty distinct. Especially when it’s, like, three feet away from his face. 

Squinting up at E.J., Ricky notices that his face is drawn together all weird. Like Nini before she has a presentation in class, or his dad when he gets a call from his mom. 

Worried. But that doesn’t seem right. 

“Hi,” he murmurs. “What’re you doing here?” He hasn’t spoken in a while, but his voice sounds weirder than it did before. Slower. 

“What am I— what are you doing here? Are you okay, man?” 

Ricky crosses his arms. “I asked you first.” 

E.J. rolls his eyes. “Alright, I’m driving some water polo guys home. Your turn.” 

“I’m here to get drunk.” 

He probably should have thought before he said that, but it would seem he’s too far gone to have a filter. 

“Looks like you’re succeeding.” E.J. eyes the cup at Ricky’s side. “How many of those have you had?” 

“Uh-” Ricky uses his fingers to count. “Four? Five? No, wait, four.” 

“Four? The idiots I’m here with got wasted after two cups!” 

“Yeah… I think I had four. I don’t know.” 

“Damn, you’re drunk.” 

Wait, really? It doesn’t feel as good as he’d hoped. 

“Oh. Mission accomplished.” He leans his head back against the wall. 

“Hey, no, this isn’t good.” E.J. pokes his chest. “This is stupid.” 

Ricky nods. He _knows_. But it’s not E.J.’s job to tell him that. 

“I’m driving you home.” 

Ricky sits up so fast his head spins. “What?” 

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

“Why not?” 

“Uh, because you’re being stupid.” 

“You can’t drive me.” Ricky folds his arms over his chest. “I skated here.” 

E.J. chuckles apprehensively. “You’re definitely not good to skate right now. We can put your skateboard in the trunk.” 

“But I wanna stay.” 

“And I want you to go home and go to bed. Guess which one of us has better decision-making skills right now.” 

“I don’t wanna go home.” 

“Too bad.” E.J. gently grabs Ricky by the arm and pulls him up. Once he lets go, Ricky stumbles and has to prop himself up against the wall. “Jesus,” E.J. mutters. 

“Don’t you have to wait and drive home your water polo buddies?” 

“They can call their moms or something.” 

“But they’re... relying on you.” 

“They can rely on someone else. Honestly, I doubt they even remember I’m here.” 

“But-” 

“It’s fine,” E.J. assures. “Come on.” He puts an arm around Ricky and steps towards the door. 

Ricky pushes away. He stumbles again, falling backwards. E.J. reaches out and swiftly pulls him in by his sleeve. 

Suddenly they’re pressed up against each other. Ricky can smell E.J.’s cologne, subtle and woodsy, and E.J. can probably smell the alcohol on Ricky’s breath. 

Ricky’s cheeks flush as he takes an uneasy step back. His eyes begin to burn. “No, E.J. I can’t go home. Please don’t take me home.” 

E.J. pauses. His face shifts back to worry. There’s a question in his eyes, but Ricky can’t look at them long enough to answer. 

“Alright,” E.J. says. “I won’t take you home.” 

Sighing softly, E.J. shifts and puts his arm beneath Ricky’s. He’s basically supporting all of Ricky’s weight, which is equal parts embarrassing and impressive. As they begin to walk, Ricky leans in closer to him and clutches tightly onto his jacket. 

The moment they’re out the door, the sound of the party raging inside is muffled. The bass fades to a dull pulse. 

E.J. struggles to fish his keys out of his pocket with one hand, but soon enough, he’s gently shoving Ricky into the passenger seat. Ricky fumbles with his seatbelt. 

“Need help?” 

“No, no, I got it.” And it’s true. He’s very capable. It only takes him three tries to get the buckle locked in place. 

“So where’s your skateboard?” 

“Uh… in the garage, I think. S’ black. Has a blue sticker on the bottom.” 

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Stay here.” 

Well, he doesn’t really want to. Maybe he could sneak out without and go hide in the bathroom. E.J. would probably just give up on looking for him then, right? 

But then again, it’s calm in here. Quiet. He doesn’t want to give that up. 

E.J. is back before he can ponder it anymore. The trunk slams closed, and then suddenly he’s scooting into the driver’s seat. As the car starts, he glances over at Ricky. 

“So, I gotta ask, man, what’s up with you tonight?” 

Ricky fiddles with his fingers. “Nothing.” 

“Intentionally getting drunk and begging me not to take you home is nothing?” 

“I didn’t- I’m not... _that_ drunk. You don’t need to scold me like you’re my mom or something. I know it was stupid, okay?” 

“Then why’d you do it?” 

“None of your business.” 

“Actually, it _is_ my business when my friend does self-destructive shit. Especially when I’m the one driving them away from the situation.” 

“I didn’t _ask you to_ , okay, E.J.? I would have been fine on my own!” Ricky shouts, and then winces. He’s making it too loud again. 

But E.J. is keeping his cool. “Look, you obviously don’t want to talk about it. I get that. But what you did tonight, Ricky… it’s not like you. And it’s not healthy. And that makes me worried. I’m not great at showing it, but you know I care about you, right?” 

“Yeah. Really, man, I’m alright.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

They’re pulling up on a red light. The harsh color is blurry like an out-of-focus photograph, and Ricky just wants to stare at it, but E.J. says, “Hey, Ricky, look at me.” 

So he does. And E.J. is staring at him with such intensity, he feels his cheeks growing even more flushed. 

“Should I be worried?” He asks. “Be honest with me. Right now, there’s something wrong, and we’re not gonna leave it that way.” 

“Don’t worry about it, man.” 

“You know, you didn’t have to do this. You could’ve just talked to someone about whatever crisis you’re having.” 

“Who the hell would I talk to?” Ricky crosses his arms defensively. “Nini was the only person I went to, and now she’s in Denver and she never answers my calls… I dunno if she’s ignoring me or if she’s just busy, but she’s not exactly the best support system anymore. And Big Red is out of the country visiting family, so phone calls cost, like, a million dollars.” 

“Shit. Well, you could have talked to me.” 

Ricky opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off by a car honking behind them. The light is green. E.J. presses on the gas and they’re moving again. 

“No, I couldn’t have. I know we’re friends, E.J., but there’s not exactly a lot of trust between us. Last I checked, you still hated me for throwing a basketball at your face.” 

“Look, I know we didn’t get off on the best foot. That was partly my fault, and I’m sorry if I was a jerk sometimes. But we’re friends now. And I don’t like to see my friends hurting.” 

Unsure of what to say, Ricky folds in on himself. He’s tired and E.J. is stubborn, so he should probably just give up. He hates arguing. His eyes are welling up with tears, and he has to stare out the window to blink them back so E.J. won’t notice. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“You don’t need to be sorry,” E.J. sighs. “You need to tell me what’s up with you.” “I don’t know how.” 

Slowly, the car shifts to the side of the road, jostles, and then sits in park. E.J. turns to look at Ricky with an uncomfortably analytical gaze. Ricky anxiously gazes at the floor. He feels pathetic, drunk on four cups of spiked punch and trying desperately not to fall apart in his friend's car. He doesn’t know if he can do this. 

E.J. gets straight to the point. “Why don’t you want to go home?” 

“Nobody wants to go home to their family when they’re shitfaced,” Ricky says. “I’d be grounded for life.” 

“I feel like there’s something else you’re not telling me.” 

There’s some irony here. Why does E.J. want sincerity when he’s just as bad with sentimental shit as Ricky is? It would be so much easier for them to just… _not_ talk about it. 

But E.J. is pressing hard for the truth, and Ricky wants to make him shut up about it, and he can’t remember the last time someone _invited_ him to talk about his feelings. 

He takes a deep breath and decides to spill his guts. 

“My parents are fighting. A lot. Sometimes it’s about… random, stupid things, but most of the time it’s about me.” His voice breaks. “It’s so stupid. They’ll be screaming at the top of their lungs and they’ll think I can’t hear just because my door is closed. And I can just… _feel it_. I can feel how angry they are with each other. Over me. And I feel guilty. But I’m not supposed to say anything about it, because if I’m upset, then they’re extra upset, and I try _so hard_ to hold it together-” 

He can’t. He can’t do this. 

“It’s okay, Ricky,” E.J. says. “You don’t need to hold it together for me. It’s okay.” 

His resolve shatters. 

“It’s not okay,” he sobs. “It doesn’t feel okay.” 

“It will be. Just hang in there.” 

Ricky shakes his head. “Every day it just gets worse, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. I don’t know how.” 

“It’s alright. Just breathe.” 

“It’s all my fault.” 

“No it’s not.” 

“It is!” Ricky cries. “They’re miserable because of me. They argue over me all the time. My mom said I’m the one thing that kept them together, but… but now I’m just tearing them apart. It’s my fault.” 

“Hey, stop.” E.J. turns to face Ricky and reaches towards him. Without a moment of hesitation, he takes both of Ricky’s hands in his own and squeezes. “You don’t get to talk about yourself like that. None of that is your fault, you hear me?” 

His touch is soft and gentle and it sends a tingle up Ricky’s spine. 

“I’m… really sorry, Ricky. I didn’t know it was that bad. But you know you’re not the one to blame here, right? Your parents are acting like assholes — sorry — and that’s their choice. That’s not on you.” 

Ricky wants to retort, but more than that, he wants to let E.J. be right. The way E.J. holds his hands with such firmness is strangely comforting; it says _you can trust me_. 

Ricky wants to believe that. Or at least try to. 

“Thanks, E.J.” 

A small smile appears on E.J.’s lips. It looks like there’s a bit of redness creeping onto his face, but it could just be the glare off the headlights passing by. “No problem, Ricky. I’m here for you.” 

If Ricky’s hands are sweaty and warm and his face is burning, he blames it on the alcohol. The pang in his chest is coincidental. 

“So,” E.J. continues, “is that why you were at the party?” 

Ricky nods. “I just wanted to get out of my house. I didn’t really have anywhere else to go. And somebody offered me punch, and I knew it was spiked but I just thought, _fuck it_ , you know?” 

“Not really.” 

Ricky sighs. “Look, I know it was really dumb of me to drink, and it’s not a regular thing, I promise.” 

“So why did you?” 

“I guess I just wanted to forget. Thought it would make me feel better.” 

“Well, no offense, but it seems like that kind of backfired on you,” E.J. deadpans. 

“Yeah,” Ricky giggles. “I feel like shit. I’m kind of having a meltdown, aren’t I?” 

“You’re drunk and full of repressed sadness. You’re allowed to feel like shit.” 

“I guess you’re right.” 

Smirking, E.J. rolls his eyes. “I always am.” 

After that, he pulls away, leaving Ricky’s hands cold and empty. As E.J. begins to drive again, it feels like something is missing. But his hands need to be on the wheel right now. They’re turning into a neighborhood Ricky doesn’t recognize, lined with tall houses and crowded driveways. 

“Where are we going, anyway?” Ricky asks. 

“My house.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“We’re sleeping on my couch.” 

“No, you don’t have t-“ 

“Dude, stop trying to be polite. I’m not taking you back to your place and I’m sure as hell not making you sleep on the floor. I’d give you my bed, but we wouldn’t both fit on it, and my parents’ bed is off-limits.” 

“Why do we both need to be on it? Not- not that that’s a problem,” Ricky stammers. 

“I’d rather not leave you alone tonight.” 

“Oh. That’s fair,” Ricky laughs quietly. “Are you sure, though?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine, seriously.” E.J. turns and pulls into a long, empty driveway in front of a big brown house. “We’re here.” 

“So are your parents not home?” 

“They’re on a business trip. Won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon,” E.J. says as he steps out of the car. 

Ricky is about to get out on his own when E.J. appears at his side. Just like earlier, he wraps an arm around Ricky to support him as they walk to the front door. Ricky can’t find any reason to complain about it this time. 

But then he remembers what’s in the trunk. “What about my skateboard?” 

“I’ll get it out for you tomorrow. I hear you skated away from Nini’s house in the middle of the night once.” 

“She told you that?” 

“No, she told Ashlyn and I overheard,” E.J. says as he unlocks the door, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “Not gonna risk it, though. Come on.” 

When they first step inside, Ricky has to squint. The lights are bright, casting a warm glow on everything. But his eyes adjust quickly, and then all he can notice is how cozy E.J.’s house is. There are calming paintings on the walls. Around the corner, he can see the couch, with its many pillows and blankets folded lazily over the armrests. It’s the kind of place that feels like it could be a home right when you walk in. 

“Hold on a sec, I’ll grab you something to sleep in,” E.J. says before disappearing up the stairs. Ricky slides off his shoes as he waits. Barely a minute later, E.J. comes back and shoves a pile of clothes into his hands. “Here. The bathroom’s right behind you.” 

“Thanks.” 

E.J. only nods in response before heading back upstairs. 

In the bathroom, Ricky finally has a chance to see himself in the mirror. He looks like shit, to put it lightly. His eyes are red and puffy from crying. They’re still a little glassy. His cheeks are red, too, but the color fades a little once finally shrugs off his hoodie. 

He ends up in a pair of sweats with “EHS LEOPARDS” written on the leg — probably courtesy of the water polo team — and a baggy t-shirt. It probably fits E.J. pretty well, but on him, it’s loose and breathable and insanely comfy. 

Holy shit. He’s in E.J.’s clothes. That shouldn’t feel like a big deal, should it? He’s borrowed clothes from Red before. But this feels more borrowing clothes from Nini. One time, they were going sledding together and she insisted he needed something to keep his head warm, so she forced him into one of her old beanies. He had the butterflies the whole time he wore it. 

He has the same feeling now. It’s subtle, but it’s persistent. 

When Ricky leaves the bathroom, he sets his clothes in a lazy pile next to his shoes. He can wash them at his house later. Right now, he really just wants to go to bed. This night has been exhausting and his eyelids are heavy. 

Staggering into the living room, he finds E.J. sitting on the couch. He’s in a pair of blue plaid pants and a black shirt. Come to think of it, Ricky’s never seen EJ wear anything other than jeans and jackets before. This feels weirdly intimate. 

“I think we’re all set up,” E.J. says. There are two blankets laid out on the couch and a pillow at each end. On the coffee table at the end of the couch, there’s a glass of water. Beneath it, there’s a huge bowl. 

“That a puke bucket?” 

“Yeah, basically.” 

E.J. smiles, and it’s enough to get Ricky smiling, too, because E.J.’s is soft and natural and contagious. 

Cute. 

“What?” 

Oh shit. Did he say that out loud? 

“Uh, nothing,” Ricky says as he flops onto the sofa. “Oh my god, this blanket is so comfy!” 

And it smells great. The overlying fresh and clean scent is probably just from the laundry detergent, but there’s something underneath. It’s like the forest after rain. He wants to bury his face in it. 

“Yeah, it’s my favorite.” 

Oh, wait. It’s E.J.’s cologne. Why does knowing that make his stomach do cartwheels? 

“You gonna get under it, or just lay on top of it?” 

Ricky’s still a little warm, but he pulls the blanket over himself anyway. It’s cozy enough that the extra heat doesn’t bother him. 

“You might want to text someone, by the way. To let them know you’re not coming home.” 

“I texted my dad at the party, I think. Told him I was staying at Big Red’s.” 

“Does he not know Big Red’s out of town?” 

“If I told him, he doesn’t remember,” Ricky shrugs. “He said okay.” 

“Alright, cool.” 

Ricky yawns. “Cool.” 

Glancing at his watch, E.J. says, “We should go to bed.” 

“What time is it?” 

“Late.” 

“How late?” 

“Just go to sleep, dude.” 

“Wait.” Ricky turns to E.J., looks straight at him and fights down that stupid, persistent blush. Before he can really process what he’s doing, he throws himself forward and wraps his arms around E.J. “Thank you. Seriously.” 

Despite the way he flinches in surprise, E.J. returns the hug. “No problem, Ricky. You can sleep on my couch anytime.” 

Ricky pulls away and falls back into his pillow. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. Stop thanking me.” 

“Okay. G’night, E.J.” 

“Goodnight.” 

Surrounded by peaceful quiet, Ricky drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! my twitter is @bowenuris if you want to witness more hsmtmts chaos


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